Cycles
by Anoni
Summary: 3&4. When dreams and pasts intersect, two young men are drawn irrevocably towards each other while those around them struggle to solve their puzzle. As the cycles revolve, it becomes a race against fate and time...
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: The GW characters belong to the people they've always belonged to, and the initial concept of this story was inspired by S. L. Wai's "Seeking Dreams". The rest is mine. Please ask before stealing.  
  
Warnings: Shounen ai, violence, semi-death. AU. Possible editing (of typos etc.) without notice.  
  
Pairings: Primarily 3+4, eventual and vague 1+2.  
  
Comments/critiques: Extremely welcome and much appreciated. Please comment or email.  
  
Author's notes: A fic to tide me over a temporary RP-block. 'Roleplay' followers, please don't murder me.  
  
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Cycles  
  
Chapter One  
  
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/ The figure sprawled against the bricks, its seemingly casual posture at odds with the pain contorting its face. Low mutterings sounded nearby. Suddenly, a metal pole was hurled, and landed with a clang beside the body. The figure flinched. Two threads of laughter echoed eerily, their sounds distorted by the alley walls. Then, the footsteps receded and all was still.  
  
After some time, a shadow appeared and moved forward. The fallen figure felt a surge of hope and struggled to sit up, whispering faintly, 'Lily...'  
  
A humourless laugh penetrated the silence. The figure gazed upwards in shock, tensing as the woman's smile spread into a smirk. It tried - in vain - to reach upwards, but its arm dropped limply onto the ground again. A low moan escaped its lips. The shadow's smirk widened.  
  
Then, the knife fell. /  
  
***  
  
Quatre cried out noiselessly. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto the pillows, and his arms were wrapped with suffocating tightness around the blankets. His body was curled up but trembling, and his face marked with fear. His eyes were clenched shut.  
  
'Master Quatre!'  
  
The familiar voice pierced through the darkness, and Quatre's eyes flew open. For a few moments, they darted across the room wildly, searching for some confirmation of an altered reality. None appeared. After a while, Quatre drew a shaky breath and exhaled it slowly, struggling for some semblance of composure.  
  
On the opposite side of the door, the pounding grew more insistent. 'Master Quatre?'  
  
Hurriedly, the young man slipped out from the sweat-soaked blankets and admitted his burly assistant. 'I'm sorry, Rashid. I had only just woken up.'  
  
The man's gaze ran over him critically, then grew concerned. 'Another nightmare?' A frown met Quatre's nod. 'Master Quatre, perhaps you really ought to see a doctor.'  
  
'I'm okay,' came the reply. Rashid crossed his arms. After several minutes of silence, Quatre sighed and acquiescenced, 'After the tour, then.'  
  
The assistant nodded. 'I'll take your word for it.' He paused, shifting uncomfortably. 'Master Quatre, I'm sorry...'  
  
'Rashid, we've been through this.' The interjection was firm. 'If I hadn't thought myself capable of managing, I wouldn't have granted you leave.' Quatre smiled slightly. 'I can survive by myself for a fortnight, truly. Most twenty-year-olds seem able to.'  
  
'Most twenty-year-olds aren't internationally acclaimed musicians,' the man answered, his frown returning.  
  
'So I should be better at surviving than most twenty-year-olds.' Quatre touched his arm. 'I'll be fine. Go, and give my greetings to Abdul.'  
  
Rashid hesitated, then bowed. 'I will, Master Quatre. Thank you.'  
  
After the man closed the door, Quatre's smile faded and he collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily. He reached for the remote and increased the room temperature but it was no use; the coldness remained, as did the numbing sense of betrayal. It was growing difficult to distinguish the external emotions from his own.  
  
The sensible part of his mind was telling him to dismiss the dreams, but they returned too frequently and too starkly to be ignored. Worst of all, they *felt* real, so real that they seemed as sure as reality. Quatre believed in his feelings explicitly. He was, perhaps, known for trusting too easily, but in this case, his trust was not misplaced.  
  
Quatre Winner's feelings had never been wrong.  
  
***  
  
'Your pacing is making me dizzy,' Duo muttered, cracking open an eyelid.  
  
'Your eyes were closed,' came the dry observation.  
  
'Of course.' He sat up. 'I was trying to sleep. The footfalls on wooden floorboards didn't help.'  
  
Wufei halted and glanced at his friend. 'Had you been in your bedroom, I may have apologised, but trying to sleep in my study and complaining about my presence is hardly sensible.'  
  
'I'm not complaining about your presence; I'm complaining about the noise your presence makes.' Duo's lips quirked. 'And I've never been known for being sensible, have I?'  
  
The Chinese youth shook his head, retrieving the newspaper from his desk. After flipping through several pages in silence, he lifted one and handed it to his companion. 'Here.'  
  
'What is it?' Duo's eyes were already roaming over the print. When he finally looked up, his expression was almost wistful. 'Are you going?'  
  
Wufei indicated negative. 'I'll be visiting my parents tomorrow night. You?'  
  
The man averted his gaze with a headshake. 'Can't. I'd like to, but it's a Wednesday.'  
  
'Ah,' Wufei murmured. He was quiet for some moments. 'I'd have liked to, as well. Besides, he rarely ever tours the cities.'  
  
'Mmm,' came the reply. 'He doesn't, does he?'  
  
A sharp glance. 'What are you thinking?'  
  
Duo reclined against the couch, covering a yawn. 'Nothing much. But it's rather amazing how somebody our age could have become so famous.'  
  
Wufei's brow knitted. 'He's hardly the only young musician to be recognised internationally.'  
  
'But he's one of the first to deserve the recognition.' Duo rose. 'Pop idols aside, how many musicians are there who can actually claim to create music?' He nodded at an empty jewel case. 'Quatre Winner does. I mightn't know much about it, but one doesn't need to be a musical genius to end up wiping tears away after his concertos.'  
  
'True,' Wufei agreed. He gestured towards the clock. 'Hadn't you better eat breakfast? It's almost noon.'  
  
Duo shrugged. 'I'm not too hungry, but I guess I should get going. The show's coming up.'  
  
'When?'  
  
'In three weeks.'  
  
'Leave me a spot.'  
  
'I will.' A pause. 'Thank you.'  
  
Wufei's expression softened into something almost affectionate. 'You know, Mr Maxwell, you're not doing too badly yourself.'  
  
Duo grinned. 'Neither are you, Mr Chang.' He gave a cheerful wave, slowing momentarily at the exit. 'I'll see you tonight.' The door closed behind him with a click.  
  
***  
  
Heero looked up at the knock. 'Come in.' He slid his laptop and notes aside as the door slid open and admitted a young man. 'How may I help you, Mister...?'  
  
'Trowa Barton,' came the reply. He sat down. 'Trowa is fine.'  
  
Heero nodded. 'And what appears to be the problem?'  
  
The man crossed his legs before him, pausing in thought for some moments. Finally, he returned, 'I've been getting recurring dreams. Nightmares. They're beginning to affect my performance, and I would like a way to deal with them.'  
  
'How long have these dreams bothered you?'  
  
'Almost three years.'  
  
'Are they frequent?'  
  
'Growing more so. They come weekly, instead of quarterly or monthly.'  
  
Heero's fingers flew over the keyboard. 'Would you describe the dream? I assume it is the same one each time.'  
  
'It is,' came the reply. 'I don't remember much of it, but it is set in a dark alley, possibly beside an inn or a pub. There is a scent of wine, and empty barrels are stacked against one side. A man... named Robert, I think, is attacked by two other men. They leave him on the ground. Then, the sky darkens and a female approaches. Lisa... Lisa Bennet. Robert is glad to see her, but she says something, then stabs him with a knife.'  
  
Heero began to speak, but Trowa forestalled him. 'And I have never witnessed, experienced or heard of such a situation, nor a mixture of similar elements.'  
  
The doctor regarded him sharply, then graced him with a rare smile and a nod of acknowledgement. 'Then I need not ask. I will also assume you rarely frequent places such as the one you describe?'  
  
'I do not. Alleys, yes, but nowhere near pubs.' He paused slightly, then lifted his shirt to reveal a narrow scar on his chest. 'Each time I have that dream, this scar begins aching, sometimes so much so that I cannot work.' His visible eye held Heero's. 'I have never received an injury in that area.'  
  
'I see.' A pause. 'No other physical symptoms?'  
  
'No.'  
  
'And that scar has been there for all three years?'  
  
'Yes. It grows more visible after each dream, then fades.'  
  
Heero thought for some time. 'Has your work been stressful of late? Any particularly dangerous or urgent cases?'  
  
Trowa shook his head. 'I am an Honourary Agent. No active duty save for some specific infiltrations, and they all proceeded without mishap.'  
  
'And within the family? Or in relationships?'  
  
'My parents are dead, and my sister overseas.' He hesitated. 'I have a girlfriend, but we have not been close. I... find myself wishing to avoid her after I have that dream.'  
  
'Would you say that the relationship has grown more strained ever the last three years?'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
There were several moments of silence. 'I have a hypothesis, if you would like to hear it.' At Trowa's nod, he continued, 'Instead of seeing the strain on the relationship as a result of the dreams, it may in fact be their cause. You fear betrayal by your girlfriend, and this fear manifests itself in the dreams. And since the dreams makes the betrayal a reality, however briefly, your fears are affirmed and you therefore feel more uncomfortable around her. It may also be that you feel ashamed of the fear and wish to prevent her from discovering them, again leading in the wish for avoidance.'  
  
Trowa's expression grew inscrutable, and he was quiet for some time. 'And the scar?'  
  
Heero noted the sudden reserve but did not comment on it. 'For ordinary people, that may be a mystery, but unless I'm mistaken, all Honourary Agents receive specialised training in self-coercion.' He crossed his arms lightly. 'Just as your subconscious mind can produce dreams, it can also utilise your training without your knowledge. Such instances are rare beyond cases of self-induced sleep and memory blocks, but are certainly not impossible.'  
  
The patient thought for a while, then gave a brief nod and stood. 'I'll consider the theory.' He returned Heero's gaze steadily. 'But for now, I still maintain that there is more to the dream. For one, I do not particularly care for my girlfriend; I may have, at one point, but the feelings are gone. For another, the dream feels too real.' He stared out through the window. 'I feel as though I *am* Robert, each and every time.'  
  
There was a poignant silence.  
  
Heero regarded him from where he sat, then tilted his head by a fraction. 'If you wish, I can organise a consultation with Special Detective Chang. He has more experience with matters that aren't yet satisfactorily explained through scientific reasoning, and may be able to offer both additional theories and a fresh perspective.'  
  
Trowa glanced at him, thoughtfully, then gave a small smile. 'That will be appreciated. Thank you for your time, Doctor Yuy.'  
  
'My pleasure.'  
  
***  
  
Duo Maxwell had a history. Most of the workers at the Preventors did; their histories forged their personalities, and their personalities were crucial to their roles. He was different, however, in that his own past did not result in traits such as pain-tolerance or the ability to deal with extremely disturbing situations. Indeed, he did not need traits like those. Normal Agents did, as did Spies and Interrogators, but Duo was neither normal nor Spy nor Interrogator.  
  
Duo Maxwell was an Artist. And yet, he was considerably more than that. Unlike the Detectives, who specialised in noticing and drawing relevant links between the tiniest and most unrelated clues, Duo's skill lay in being able to do the same to people. It was not a conscious trait; he was naturally observant, yes, but no more so than his coworkers. His portraits, however, and the details he inserted in his trance-like states, were often perceptive enough reveal everything from the motivations to emotions of the person in question.  
  
That skill Duo attributed to his past. As an orphan in the streets, his survival depended largely on his ability to understand those around him, from the police to the wealthier citizens to the gang leaders. He needed to know when to approach and when to hide, when to beg and when to let his pride define his actions. He needed to appear as neither aggressor nor prey. Those childhood skills had let him survive, and, eventually, to move beyond the streets, first into the Preventors, then into his own art studio.  
  
But Duo was not one to forget his past, or to renounce it. He was, perhaps, too keenly aware of the sheer amount of luck he had been blessed with, and of the way the less fortunate were forced to live. Whatever his reasons, Honourary Agent Maxwell was never available on Wednesday evenings. He would always disappear somewhere between Jones Street and Kingsley Street with his backpack and black outfit, to run whatever errands he always ran. Few knew exactly what he did, and those few were wise enough not to question or comment.  
  
It was on such a Wednesday evening that Duo strolled the narrow backstreets of the city. Nobody bothered him; he was well-known within the region, whether it be as an arbitrator or protector or interferer or provider or, though he denied it, a one-man peacekeeping force, and the only person who bothered trying to maintain order in chaos. Once in a while, somebody would challenge him, but those who chose to do so soon learnt that his trademark grin did not necessarily equate a lack of fighting skill.  
  
It had been a good night. The two major gangs had come to a temporary truce - though those rarely survived a fortnight - and the minor ones were once again too weak to cause havoc. Nobody had stolen from anyone too powerful. The kids were hungry, but far from starving. There was none of the desperation evident several months ago. All in all, the streets were almost peaceful.  
  
It was the stillness that let Duo hear the sound of pounding feet. He ducked instinctively behind an abandoned dumpster. Before long, the footsteps drew nearer, and he could distinguish two separate figures, a large man chasing and gaining upon a smaller one. Inching closer, he drew two conclusions - the smaller man was attractive enough to draw unwarranted attention, and he was definitely not a thief. Those conclusions were enough.  
  
Duo watched intently for another instant, then leaped out, launching himself at the taller man. He added three quick punches - face, shoulder and guts - and thrust a dagger against the man's neck. 'Who are you, and what were you trying to do?'  
  
'S-Steve. Steve Bradley.'  
  
The dagger inched forward. 'And the second question?'  
  
A sullen silence. Duo's grin brightened slowly, forming a complete contradiction with his eyes which had narrowed and darkened from violet to blue. 'You know what? I really don't care. You can bluff or tell the truth, and my eyes will still have seen what they saw.'  
  
He crouched down beside the fallen figure, continuing conversationally, 'Have you heard of the laws of the streets, Steve Bradley? No? I'll tell you, then. Lie still; you can't get up with the dagger against your neck. There.' The instrument lifted slightly, then pressed downwards again. 'The only law, Steve Bradley, is that there *is* no law. The strong survive. The weak do not. As evidenced by you and your friend there.'  
  
Duo nodded slightly at the other figure, who had stopped some paces away. Then, he leaned over Steve's face. 'But you know what? Now and then, some misfits appear and decide differently. The misfits are strange. They do not believe that the weak should be taken advantage of, and nor do they wish to kill to emerge on top.'  
  
The dagger was tilted until it caught the glint of moonlight. 'Unfortunately for you, Steve Bradley, I happen to be one such misfit.' His expression suddenly lost all traces of amusement. 'And there will be no social Darwinism on these streets. Have I made myself clear?'  
  
A hurried nod - one that was quickly stalled from completion by the dagger - was made. Duo released the pressure of the dagger slightly. 'Remember, then, Steve Bradley,' he murmured, in a voice that had turned from casual to icy cold, 'that as long this misfit is alive, these streets will not be yours to terrorise. Now leave.'  
  
The dagger was raised and the man sprang up, disappearing at a sprint into the distance. Duo remained crouched on the ground, his eyes closed in silence. After some moments, a voice asked hesitantly, 'Are you okay?'  
  
Duo blinked and stood, a sheepish grin covering his face. 'Sorry, I'd forgotten you were there.' His gaze sharpened incredulously as it fell on the other man. 'Quatre Winner?'  
  
The blonde hesitated, almost appearing embarrassed, but finally nodded. He offered Duo a slight smile. 'The one and only, yes.'  
  
Duo stared for a moment, then laughed out loud. 'I wanted to see your concert tonight, but instead, I meet you in person. It's an honour.' He offered his hand, and it was taken in a firm handshake. 'Duo Maxwell at your service.'  
  
At the sound of his name, Quatre sprang backwards. 'Duo... Maxwell?'  
  
Duo stared at him. 'Yes, that's me. Why?'  
  
'Duo,' the musician swallowed visibly. 'Can you turn around a little?'  
  
Duo allowed himself to be rotated, then asked, 'What is it, Mr Winner?'  
  
'Quatre,' came the automatic response. The moonlight fell on Duo's face and Quatre remained still for a long time. Finally, he asked in the softest murmur, 'Duo, don't you remember me? It's Raberba.'  
  
Duo froze. His eyes darted across the other man's features, drawing links, reliving history. He reached out almost in spite of himself, then drew back, his expression uncertain. Without looking away for an instant, Quatre reached upwards and brushed the hair from his face.  
  
After an eternity, a whisper was drawn from Duo's lips. 'Oh Gods... Cat?' 


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: The GW characters belong to the people they've always belonged to, and the initial concept of this story was inspired by S. L. Wai's 'Seeking Dreams'. The rest is mine. Please ask before stealing.  
  
Warnings: AU. Shounen ai, violence, semi-death. Possible editing (of typos etc.) without notice.  
  
Pairings: Primarily 3+4, eventual and vague 1+2.  
  
Comments/critiques: Extremely welcome and much appreciated. Please comment or email.  
  
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Cycles  
  
Chapter Two  
  
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Trowa hesitated at the threshold. For a moment, he almost considered returning to his hotel room, but in the end, he kept his face expressionless and stepped through the door.  
  
'Trowa Barton!' The voice was shriller than usual, and seconds later, the speaker appeared in the doorway. 'You're late again!'  
  
He hid a sigh, bending down to remove his shoes. 'I was at work, Miranda.'  
  
The woman yanked at her apron, tossing it onto the couch. 'So was I, and yet I managed to get back in time for dinner.' She took two steps towards him. 'I'm asking you now, Trowa - are you cheating on me?'  
  
Trowa rose and pivoted slowly, his expression carefully neutral. 'No. I've told you before. Why ask if you won't believe the answer?'  
  
'How can I believe you when you're so obviously lying? Besides...' Trowa's steady stare stopped her. 'What?'  
  
'I'm tired, Miranda. If we're going to argue at every meeting, perhaps I should stay away.'  
  
The woman's mouth fell shut. Trowa held her gaze for another instant, then turned and walked wordlessly into his room. The door clicked shut behind him. He could still hear the call of his name but it was faint; the soundproofing had been professionally done. He took a glance at the track lists, then refolded them and cued a song from memory. Quatre Winner's 'Sahara Nocturne' flitted through the silence.  
  
Trowa ignoring his clothed state and leaned onto the bed. This piece never failed to relax him; the tinkling, barely audible piano arpeggios sketched distant stars in the sky, while the sustained violin progressions captured the calm and almost overwhelming majesty of the Sahara. It was a beautiful composition, and one that lingered in its audience's memory.  
  
As did his dream. Try as he might, Trowa could not ignore it as he could most other things. He was not a supernatural person, but the dream felt real. Every time Robert was stabbed, Trowa would wake, aching and disoriented and unable to escape from the pangs of emotional pain that simply could not be his own. The aches he could and did deal with, but the other two took longer to fade away.  
  
And somehow, Miranda was linked to it all. Trowa was certain of that much, but the doctor's hypothesis did not feel correct and he trusted his own instincts where the dream was concerned. Yet every time he awoke, he would feel an unbreachable distance between them; not hatred or resentment, but simple emotional detachment, as though what ties that originally existed between them had been totally and irrevocably severed.  
  
He had tried, at the beginning, to care for her again, but any positive feelings proved impossible and his attempts increasingly pointless as she herself began to change. That may have been partially his fault, but her paranoia threatened to break what little control he had, and he resorted to staying away from her as often as he could.  
  
But there was one problem - he could not break up with her. He wished to, and he knew it was the sensible option, but he simply could not. Every time Trowa tried to broach the subject, he would suddenly feel a sense of something unfulfilled. Exactly what, he could not say, but there was something he needed to do but had not done yet, and until he completed that task, he could not be free of her. The result was the minefield that existed now.  
  
Sometimes, he wished she would initiate the separation and spare him the trouble, but something appeared to be preventing that also. It was all extremely vague, and illogical, and those aspects drained him even further. He disliked ambiguity, and ambiguity seemed to shroud his life of late.  
  
There was a rippling glissando, and the 'Sahara' faded to a close. Trowa allowed himself a sigh as 'Dreamscapes' began - its gentle rubato contradicted so blatantly with his own dreams that he felt momentarily disconnected, but the sway of Quatre Winner's violin soon reached out to him, and in spite of himself, he found his eyes falling shut.  
  
And as usual, the dream came.  
  
***  
  
'...Cat?'  
  
A nod. Quatre met his eyes across the stillness, and waited.  
  
'I thought something had happened to you,' Duo murmured at last.  
  
The musician averted his gaze. 'I... got picked up. By the owner of Winner Enterprises. He said I resembled his deceased wife.'  
  
Duo's brow knitted. 'Why didn't you tell me?'  
  
A hesitation, and a mild flush that teased at Duo's memories. 'I... wasn't well.' Quatre glanced up, then, as though expecting a rebuttal. When none came, he dropped his eyes and fell silent.  
  
After several moments, Duo said quietly, 'Cat, can you look at me?' His companion paused, then did so. Duo gave a slight nod. 'We haven't seen each other for ten years, but some things haven't changed - you still can't lie, and you still hate half-truths.' He reached out and brushed Quatre's shoulder. 'I won't force your story, Cat. We each have our own pasts. It's all right. You have my word, 'kay?'  
  
Quatre looked strained, but he took a deep breath and forced a smile. 'And you can still read me like a book.' He exhaled, slowly. 'I'm sorry, Duo.'  
  
The artist regarded his companion, several possibilities crossing his mind. His eyes darkened, and he opened his lips, but finally shook his head instead. 'Don't be. Some stories are better off forgotten.' He thought for a moment, then asked lightly. 'What was the world-famous prodigy doing out here, anyway?'  
  
Quatre's gaze flickered towards him. 'I wasn't apologising for that... but I think you realised as much.' He paused. 'Thank you.' Like Duo, he allowed a slight smile to cross his face. 'And I just wanted to walk through these streets again.'  
  
Duo eyed their surroundings. 'It sure brings back memories, doesn't it?' He gestured for Quatre to keep walking, then chuckled. 'Come to think of it, that was far from the first time the Alleycat got chased here.'  
  
Quatre raised an eyebrow. 'I'll have you know that the Alleycat always got away.'  
  
'Of course,' Duo replied, his expression amused. 'I shouldn't have interfered; you could have done your cat trick again.'  
  
The musician laughed. 'I think I'm a bit too tall for that.'  
  
Duo regarded him thoughtfully. 'But you were thinking about it.'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
A bemused headshake. 'I needn't have stepped in.'  
  
'I'm glad you did,' Quatre returned.  
  
Something in his expression made Duo frown. 'Cat, you weren't looking for me, were you?'  
  
'Duo...' Quatre glanced at him, then sighed. 'Yes. I didn't like the thought of you living here still, and this was the first time I could fit this region into my tours, so I decided to take a look.'  
  
'Alone. On these streets, after you'd left for a decade.' Duo's expression was inscrutable.  
  
'Yes.'  
  
The artist fell silent for several moments. 'You're an idiot, Cat.' He drew a deep breath then looked up, meeting his friend's gaze. 'Thank you.'  
  
'You're welcome,' came the simple reply. Quatre smiled at him. 'And I haven't yet asked - how have you been? Are you well?'  
  
'Not as famous as you are, for sure.' Quatre's cheeks reddened, drawing another chuckle from Duo. 'And you still blush too easily.'  
  
The musician tried to scowl, but his lips curved. 'I'm serious, Duo. You're not here anymore - so where are you?'  
  
Duo stretched his arms before him. 'Relatively well off, actually. A year or so after you left, I took to doing bits of charcoaling here and there - sort of like busking, but not quite. People would never approach streetrats, so I sat and remembered what the usual passerbies looked like and drew them and approached them instead.'  
  
He nodded at a half-broken wall as they walked past. 'That's where I sat. So anyway, one of the ones I talked to was an Agent at the Preventors, and he asked to look through some of my work.' A grin crossed his face. 'And it turned out that I'd managed to catch a regular dealer on his rounds. They recruited me. I stayed there for a while, scrounged a bit of money and started painting in my own right, but I still help out when they need me.'  
  
'An artist and an Agent,' Quatre murmured musingly. 'Agent Maxwell, hey?'  
  
Duo grinned. 'It has a nice ring, doesn't it?'  
  
The musician squeezed his shoulder earnestly. 'I'm glad for you, Duo.'  
  
'Thank you.' A pause. 'Are *you* happy, Cat?'  
  
Quatre's lips curved automatically, then he seemed to check himself. He inhaled slowly. 'Duo, can I ask a favour of you?'  
  
'Of course.'  
  
'I need to find a woman called Lisa Bennet.'  
  
Duo sent him a searching look. 'Who is she?'  
  
'A relati...' Quatre's face grew sheepish, and he shook his head. 'Someone I'm looking for.'  
  
Duo studied him for a moment, then nodded his acceptance. 'I'll introduce you to my partner, Detective Chang. Where are you staying?'  
  
'The Merryborough.'  
  
'Are you free tomorrow noon?' At Quatre's nod, Duo finished, 'Then I'll pick you up at twelve.'  
  
'Thank you.'  
  
'Don't mention it.' The artist grinned. 'Nothing like a good mystery, right?'  
  
Quatre returned a smile, but his eyes were distracted. Duo hid a thoughtful frown. After a few minutes, the conversation resumed, but something seemed to have come between them. And the something had managed to trigger all of Duo's internal alerts.  
  
***  
  
/ They punched him hard, and continuously. He tried to fight back. The taller one snarled out something, but his ears were ringing so hard that he could do nothing more than scream as he fell. He stared up, then, and found two mocking gazes bent upon him. He opened his mouth and a heavy heel struck him in the chest. He gasped in pain. His vision dimmed.  
  
Almost subconsciously, he heard them talking, and looked up in time to see a long stick of metal being thrown at him. He flinched as it crashed a bare inch from his body. Above him, the pair laughed scornfully, and the laughter bounced and resonated against the alley walls. He tensed in preparation for another blow, but to his disbelief, they turned and left. His body sagged.  
  
Some time passed; he did not know how much, but the sun was almost gone. He swallowed, trying to rid his mouth from the taste of blood. Suddenly, a figure appeared and walked towards him, moving delicately between the empty barrels against one wall. His eyes brightened in recognition, and he struggled to sit, croaking out, 'Lily?'  
  
She stood above him, murmuring something. He tried to listen, but his ears did not work. All he could do was whisper, 'Lily...'  
  
A cruel laugh cut through his hearing. His eyes flew upwards, and to his horror, he found her smile curving into a humourless smirk. He raised his hand in shock, but he was too weak; it fell, limply, beside him, and he held back a moan. Even in his pain, he saw her smirk widen.  
  
Then, the knife fell. /  
  
Trowa Barton woke with a scream.  
  
***  
  
Wufei's eyes flickered over the brim of the teacup. 'Lisa Bennet?'  
  
The musician shifted slightly, but nodded. 'Yes.'  
  
Wufei lay down the teacup. 'What else do you know about her?'  
  
Quatre glanced down. 'Not overly much. Only that...'  
  
'That?'  
  
'She may have been involved in a murder.'  
  
The Detective's eyes sharpened. 'May have?'  
  
A hesitation. 'I think she was.'  
  
Wufei paused. 'What sort of murder?'  
  
'Of a young man in his early twenties. Named... Robert.'  
  
'Did she get caught?'  
  
'I'm not sure,' came the reply. Quatre stared at the tabletop. 'I think it occurred at least twenty years ago.' Quatre closed his eyes momentarily, as though recalling something. 'Their clothes were from the eighties.' He hesitated. 'And prostitution wasn't as tightly controlled. She was a prostitute for an pub. The murder occurred outside the pub, in a narrow alley.'  
  
Wufei's gaze grew thoughtful. 'Do you know what inn it was?'  
  
/ She halted outside the door and listened; sure enough, the cook was out. Hurrying in, she rummaged until she found a knife, and pocketed it. Then, noiselessly, she ran out the front door. The sun was almost gone. To her left, neon lights suddenly began to flash, illuminating the words... /  
  
'Night Haven,' Quatre murmured, then sat up straighter, nodding once. 'It was the Night Haven.'  
  
Wufei made a note, then regarded him for several moments. 'Very well. I will have a look through some records, but please keep in mind,' he met Quatre's eyes, 'that this information is little and rather vague. I would advise you not to expect too much.'  
  
Quatre inhaled and forced a smile. 'Thank you. I would be grateful for anything you can find out.'  
  
At that point, Duo rose from his corner. 'Do you need an escort?'  
  
A headshake, and a genuine smile. 'I'll be fine, Duo. Thank you.' He gave a courteous nod to Wufei. 'And thank you for your time.' At their acknowledgement, he opened the door and left.  
  
Duo waited for several moments, then demanded impatiently, 'Well?'  
  
The typing stopped, and Wufei looked up at him. 'Your childhood friend has secrets.'  
  
'I know.' Duo sat down beside his partner. 'But so do we all.'  
  
Wufei shook his head. 'Not past secrets; Quatre's still haunt him, and are still active and changing. His original story was extremely ambiguous. Then, when pressed for more details, he suddenly divulged much that simply did not suggest so little or such vague knowledge. It reminds me of a partial memory block - a block where there is little that one consciously admits to knowing, but where all the details repressed within.'  
  
The Detective leaned back, continuing musingly. 'But something doesn't fit about that, either. Because there is no block. He's consciously aware of everything, and recalling does not cause large reactions or pain, but it still takes time. It is strange.'  
  
Wufei's fingers scrolled up the screen. 'And there are slight inconsistencies in his story - the use of "their" when describing the clothes hints at knowledge of more than this Lisa Bennet, and yet he is unwilling to reveal anything more.' A pause. 'What do you think?'  
  
'There's something strange, yes.' Duo frowned in thought. 'Could she be his mother? It would explain his evasiveness - Quatre has never liked hiding the truth, but if he really suspects her of murder and prostitution, he'd probably want to hide it until he knows more.'  
  
'Maybe,' came the reply. The typing stopped again. 'Here. Registration worked differently a few decades ago, but there were thirteen registered Night Havens even then.' He shut the laptop. 'I'll contact the Chief and request a restricted access license. This search will be pointless without one.'  
  
'Thank you.' Duo paused. 'Cat... means a lot to me.'  
  
'I know.' He met his partner's gaze with a brief smile. 'I'll do my best.'  
  
'I know you will.' Duo touched his arm lightly, then asked, 'Where are you off to?'  
  
A glance. 'How did you know?' Duo gestured towards the wall, his eyes flicking back and forth between the clock and the laptop. Wufei's brows knitted. 'Was I that obvious?'  
  
'Not to anyone but me.' The artist grinned at him.  
  
Wufei's headshake held a touch of bemusement. 'That will have to suffice.' He stood. 'I'm meeting with Doctor Yuy. He has a patient who would like to see me.'  
  
'Ah.' Duo stood. 'I'll leave you, then.'  
  
'I'll get word to you by tomorrow.'  
  
'Thanks, Wufei.' The artist gave a wave, then left.  
  
***  
  
They arrived, as usual, within seconds of each other. It had become something of a habit over the years; neither men saw any point in arriving too early and both refused to be late, so Heero Yuy and Wufei Chang gained a reputation for arriving from different places at the same time.  
  
On this occasion, both were slightly early. Heero introduced Trowa to Wufei, and with a minimal amount of small talk, the trio entered the restaurant. They were ushered to their seats at their exact allocated time.  
  
Then, the story was told. Wufei listened with his usual attention, but at the mention of 'Lisa', he shot Trowa a sharp glance. 'Lisa Bennet?'  
  
'Yes.' A pause. 'Have you heard of her?'  
  
Wufei shook his head, feigning casualness. 'An acquaintance's mention; I know little more about it. Please, continue.'  
  
The Detective did not interrupt again. Trowa's story was concise, but further questioning at the end drew little more information than he had already provided. That information - a perfect mirror of Quatre's more disjointed details - was enough.  
  
'Would you remember the name of the pub?' he asked finally.  
  
Trowa's brow creased briefly, but he shook his head. 'Something suggestive. I'm not certain.'  
  
Wufei drew another mental link. 'You believe you were Robert in the dreams.'  
  
'Yes.' Trowa thought for a moment. 'It is difficult to explain, but the sensation is too immediate. As is the scar.'  
  
Heero mentioned his own suspicions, then, but Wufei could see that Trowa believed otherwise and turned to him. 'What are your thoughts?'  
  
'Reincarnation,' came the steady response after a pause.  
  
There was a silence. In the end, it was Wufei who said, 'I will look into it.' He nodded at Heero. 'If there is such a case recorded, I will find it and forward the details to Heero by tomorrow.'  
  
Wufei turned back to Trowa. 'My culture has always believed in reincarnation, and also in unfulfilled desires in a past life being carried on to the next. I won't dismiss your conclusion. But if no such crime was committed, there may be other explanations - a story or event from your childhood may be seemingly forgotten, but can still be imprinted in your subconsciousness. Those are often triggered by stress or other factors.'  
  
Heero nodded. 'Trowa, if you are off-duty tomorrow morning, I can organise an appointment in the hypnosis room, as well as give you any details Wufei finds.'  
  
Trowa considered. 'Then thank you.'  
  
***  
  
Quatre froze as the hand pushed him into an alleyway. His eyes darted round nervously, and only when he was certain of a lack of audience did he whisper, 'What do you want?'  
  
A taller figure spun him around, roughly. 'What do you think I want, little brat? After yesterday?'  
  
The musician tried to pull away. 'Steve, let go. Please.'  
  
'Please,' echoed Steve Bradley mockingly. His eyes remained furious. 'And who was it who stood by yesterday, watching me get beaten up?'  
  
The question was rhetorical. Quatre shook his head, almost helplessly, and repeated, 'What do you want from me?' He reached inside his pocket.  
  
Steve stalled him with a slap. 'That's not enough this time, brat! You're going to have to do better than that.'  
  
Quatre stumbled back. As Steve closed the distance again, he grabbed his wallet and held it up. 'The pin is 3-4-3-0-0 - take it and go!'  
  
The man snatched at the wallet and rummaged through its contents for the mentioned card, his lips curving in a sneer as he pocketed it and tossed back the rest. 'That's more like it.' His expression darkened. 'But I'll be back for my due, brat-boy, and you'll do to remember it.'  
  
Quatre nodded in silence, and Steve sauntered away. Taking a deep breath, the musician turned back towards the hotel on the opposite street. Suddenly, a figure detached itself from the wall and stood before him. He gasped. 'D-duo?'  
  
'None other,' came the reply. The artist's face was unreadable under the moonlight. 'I came to return your mobile.'  
  
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Notes:  
  
I hope that wasn't overly confusing. The puzzle is far from complete and there are differences in the amount of knowledge each character holds, so their actions are consequently affected. I've tried to keep it all understandable, but if you spot inconsistencies or other strangenesses, please drop me a note and I'll be eternally grateful.  
  
MissyIrene: Thanks! Hope you enjoyed this part too.  
  
Soon to be world renown Gracie: Um, I did put in an AU warning, actually. ^^ It just wasn't at the beginning of the 'warnings'. I've rearranged it now; thanks!  
  
Judy: *laugh* I think I'm damned to hell already. And yes, the OCs are fictional. I just picked names that didn't come up in GW to avoid confusion because I do not like bastardising anyone. 


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: The GW characters belong to the people they've always belonged to, and the initial concept of this story was inspired by S. L. Wai's 'Seeking Dreams'. The rest is mine. Please ask before stealing.  
  
Rating: R (eventually)  
  
Warnings: Shounen ai, violence, death. AU. Mentions of NCS.  
  
Pairings: Primarily 3+4, eventual and vague 1+2.  
  
Comments/critiques: Extremely welcome and much appreciated. Please comment or email Anoni at esoteric_expression@yahoo.com.  
  
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Cycles  
  
Chapter Three  
  
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'I came to return your mobile.'  
  
Quatre stared, first at his friend then at the phone. Duo waited. After a moment, the musician bowed his head. 'I'm sorry, Duo.'  
  
The silence was followed by a quiet sigh. 'Don't be. I said I wouldn't force you, remember?' He stepped forward and offered the mobile again. When Quatre did not respond, Duo placed it directly in his palm. 'You left this at Wufei's office.'  
  
'Thank you,' came the murmur. Quatre pocketed it, then looked up, almost blurting out, 'Did you see everything?'  
  
Their eyes met, and after a moment, the musician lowered his gaze once more. 'Don't apologise again,' Duo said abruptly.  
  
Another silence. 'Alright.' Quatre paused. 'But I've hurt you.'  
  
'No,' Duo replied, all too quickly. A stillness, and deep breath. 'It's okay, really.'  
  
'No. It isn't.' Quatre's eyes suddenly grew older than his years. 'Duo, do you really want to know? I can tell you. I just... don't want to upset you when it's all in the past.'  
  
The artist gazed at him searchingly. 'Is it that bad?'  
  
'It's not very pleasant.' Quatre took a long breath, then gestured at their surroundings with a forced smile. 'Probably not something to be told here.'  
  
Duo regarded his friend and after a moment, he nodded his acceptance. 'Your room, maybe?'  
  
'Yeah.' They proceeded towards the hotel wordlessly. 'Here.' The door closed behind them. 'Take a seat. Tea?' Duo gave another nod, letting Quatre take his time but watching him carefully. After some time, two steaming cups were placed on the table, and the musician sat down, forcing another smile. 'There's sugar in the container.'  
  
'Thank you,' Duo answered. He took a sip then set aside the cup, waiting.  
  
Quatre exhaled. 'Please... don't interrupt. On the day I disappeared, I wasn't picked up. I was in the markets. I'm not sure how everything started, but Steve - that Steve - was picking on Phil... do you remember Phil?' At Duo's nod, he continued, 'I stepped in. I was bigger than Steve back then - I was older, by a little bit - and I managed to hold him off for long enough to let Phil run, but then Steve's older brother appeared.'  
  
The musician looked down, his fingers running absently over the edge of the cup. 'He was huge. Strong. He beat me up, and I couldn't do anything about it. I fainted, and when I woke up again, I was in his flat and I couldn't get out, and then...'  
  
Duo's hand caught his, gently lifting the cup away. A tissue was lowered onto the spilled tea. Then, the artist walked over and hugged his friend silently. His own face was pained.  
  
Quatre closed his eyes. 'It... hurt.' Duo winced, but continued to rub his back soothingly. 'But it was over, and he left and I somehow got loose and broke the window and ran. And got to the hospital. A nurse - Iria Winner - saw me and got me checked in, then later that day, her father came to pick her up and saw me. He told me that I looked like his wife.'  
  
'I didn't speak, or even react, and Iria told him something of what happened. He became angry. I got sent to his house and after a couple of days, when I had become slightly better, the police came and he coaxed me into telling them and Steve's brother - Brock - got arrested. The Winners took me in.'  
  
'And... it grew better?' The question came as a half-whisper.  
  
'Yeah.' Quatre's eyes flickered up. 'Yeah, it did. Duo?'  
  
'I'm sorry, Cat. I... didn't guess. I shouldn't have forced you.' Duo's gaze grew haunted.  
  
'You didn't,' the musician returned. His voice was almost steady.  
  
Duo shook his head, his free hand clenching. 'Dammit, Cat, I should have protected you...'  
  
'How?' Quatre queried softly. The artist fell silent. After a minute, the blonde murmured, 'It wasn't your fault, Duo. I wasn't mine either - it took me years to realise that, but it was Brock's fault. Nobody else's.' His friend still refused to look up, so Quatre reached out tentatively. 'Please, Duo... don't feel guilty. That's why I didn't want to tell you, at first - I didn't want you blaming yourself.'  
  
It was Duo's turn to close his eyes. 'Oh, Cat... I'm sorry.'  
  
'Don't-' Quatre took a breath, swallowing his automatic response with some difficulty. 'So am I, Duo.' He sighed, quietly. 'But it's the past. I'm dealing with it. It'll be okay, really.'  
  
After several minutes, Duo gave a slight nod and looked up. 'Come to me if you need, anything, Cat. Please.'  
  
Quatre met his eyes. 'Thank you, Duo.'  
  
A thought struck the artist and he lowered his arm from his friend's shoulder. 'Why is Steve still bothering you?'  
  
Quatre sighed, and picked up his teacup. 'After I became well-known as a musician, he suddenly turned up after a tour and demanded that I give him money for his silence about the past. He... looked haggard. I think life without his brother was hard for him.'  
  
'You felt sorry for him?' Duo stared, incredulously.  
  
The briefest of chagrined smiles. 'I guess so. Then, anyway. But when he did it a few times, I stared to refuse, and he threatened to call the newspapers. So I just paid him again.' He took a sip, his brow knitting slightly at the tea's coldness. 'You need to understand... Father wasn't young anymore. I didn't want to worry him.'  
  
Duo frowned. 'So you're letting the jerk push you around.'  
  
Quatre gave a shrug. 'It's the simplest solution, and I can spare the money.'  
  
'But it isn't right.' Duo regarded his friend for some time. 'Cat, you have another reason for this.' He paused. 'If he leaked and your father found out, he'd end up in trouble, wouldn't he?' Quatre's guilty expression made Duo sigh. 'Cat, he was the one bullying Phil first, and I doubt his brother's presence would have made him better than he is now. I have no right to stop you so I won't, but... be careful. And if he threatens you for anything else...'  
  
'I'll refuse.' The answer was firm.  
  
Duo nodded. 'I'll trust you on that. Just take care.'  
  
'I will, Duo.' Quatre grasped his arm earnestly. 'And thank you.'  
  
***  
  
'Good morning.' The doctor looked up.  
  
Trowa stepped in, and shut the door behind him. 'Good morning.'  
  
'Would you like to begin the hypnosis treatment now?' Heero asked, rising from his seat. ''Wufei will phone at nine.'  
  
Trowa nodded tiredly. 'That's fine.'  
  
Heero regarded him. 'The dream?' An affirmative, and the doctor made a note of it. 'More than weekly, then.'  
  
'Daily.' The man's eye flickered towards the bed. 'Should I remove my shoes?'  
  
'No need. Before you lie down, I will introduce you to somebody.' Heero walked over to the door and admitted a middle-aged woman. 'Marie, Honorary Agent Barton. Trowa, this is Doctor Phillips. She will be running the treatment.' He paused. 'Do you require my presence?'  
  
Trowa considered. 'Will this be recorded?'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
'Then there is no need.'  
  
The doctor nodded. 'Very well. Make yourself comfortable. Doctor Phillips, thank you.'  
  
'Thank you, Doctor Yuy,' Marie returned.  
  
Heero shut the door quietly. Moving towards the counter, he poured himself a glass of water and drank, then rinsed and replaced the cup. For a moment, he considered returning to his office, but a mental recall of his schedule changed his mind; his shift extended to four in the morning and the sudden mental breakdown of a trainee had left him without sleep for the previous night. He chose a chair with armrests and settled onto it, closing his eyes.  
  
Some time passed before a sudden scuffle snapped him awake. The doctor listened for a second, his brow furrowing, then walked swiftly towards the hypnosis room and slammed open the door. 'Trowa!'  
  
The Agent's hands tightened around Marie's throat.  
  
Heero did not wait; he sprang over to Trowa's side and grabbed at his arms, but was immediately flung away. Trowa did not appear to notice him. The doctor paused for an instant then rose and swung his fist, ramming the Agent on the side of his head and moving to catch the Agent as he fell. 'Marie?'  
  
'I'm fine,' the woman replied, rubbing her neck. She offered a grin that shook only slightly. 'I'm glad you arrived in time.'  
  
'As am I,' Heero returned dryly, giving her a small smile. 'Here.'  
  
'Thank you.' She levered herself up then released his hand. 'The recordings have it all but I'll give you a quick rundown - he didn't really respond at all. He dreamed, and the meters all show that, but the computer didn't pick up the details. I moved in to check the wiring and I think I touched him by accident, because before I knew it, he was up and I wasn't.'  
  
Heero's face grew inscrutable. 'Did he say anything at all?'  
  
'Yes - two names, I think. Marcus and Simon. And other exclamations, as though they were hurting him.' Marie gestured at the machine. 'The recordings should have it down, but I'll assume they were attacking him and he was defending himself, and confused me with one of them.' She shook her head ruefully. 'I was careless. The lack of readings distracted me or something. Sorry about that.'  
  
'It's okay.' He glanced at Trowa, then back at her. 'Do you need anything?'  
  
'No, I'll be fine.' She walked over and relooped several wires, asking, 'You can retrieve the data?'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
'And Agent Barton?'  
  
'I can handle him.' Heero paused. 'This remains confidential, of course.'  
  
'Obviously. I'm finished, then.' She wiped her hands on her shirt. 'Call me if you need me.'  
  
'Thank you.'  
  
Marie nodded, then left. Heero thought for some moments, then lifted Trowa back onto the recliner and quickly checked his status. Satisfied that all was well and that the other man would remain unconscious for some time, he returned to his office and picked up his phone.  
  
***  
  
|Private?| asked the digitalised voice.  
  
'Yes.'  
  
|Lawful?|  
  
'Yes.'  
  
|Seconded by?|  
  
'Honorary Agent Maxwell, Doctor Yuy.'  
  
|Request pending.| Wufei waited as the information was processed. After a few moments, he heard an affirmative beep. |Temporary access granted. Code reactivated.|  
  
'Thank you.' The Detective replaced the phone, swiveling towards his laptop and entering the password.  
  
[ Authorised. Warning: all activity will be logged. ]  
  
Wufei dismissed the message and launched the criminal database. Lisa Bennet, female, physical attributes unknown, age unknown, background unknown. Crime: murder. Location: Night Haven, 'pub' and all synonyms.  
  
The results appeared within seconds. He glanced at them for a moment before filtering further, repeating the query to exclude cases that did not happen in the 1980s. One remained. Wufei ran a search on the case, then leaned back and waited.  
  
[ Crime: {murder}. {Lisa Bennet}, on {Robert Grant}. Time: 1700-1900. Location: {Night Haven, external}. Motivations: unknown. Punishment: unpunished. Status: abandoned. ]  
  
His brow knitted, and he quickly forwarded requests for further information regarding the location and the crime details. Wufei scanned the text, his frown deepening as more details corresponded. There was no doubt about it; the crime was real.  
  
The Detective paused, committing the data to memory, then queried 'Lisa Bennet'. The screen flashed. He glanced for a moment at the photo - bright blue eyes, pale skin, sandy hair of approximately waist-length, angular and blatantly emphasised cheekbones - then turned to the text.  
  
[ Name: Lisa Jane Bennet. Gender: female. Height: 152cm. Weight: 47kg. Nationality: unknown. Blood type: O negative. Occupation: sex worker. Birthdate: unregistered. Deathdate: 02Mar1983. Cause of death: suicide. Buried at: Holy Cross Cemetery. Charged for: {murder of Marcus Patt and Simon Greenwich}, {murder of Robert Grant}. ]  
  
Wufei stared at the screen, noting the earlier murders thoughtfully. Then he reached for his phone, dialing Duo's number and leaving him with Lisa's burial details. As soon as he lay it down, the phone gave a ring. 'Agent Chang Wufei speaking.'  
  
'Wufei? It's Heero Yuy.'  
  
The Detective glanced at the clock; there were fifteen minutes until the arranged time. His eyes grew alert. 'What happened?'  
  
'Later. Have you got anything?'  
  
'The crime happened. The details correspond. I will forward them.' He paused. 'And apparently, Lisa is responsible for two other murders. A Marcus Patt and a Simon Greenwich.'  
  
There was a silence. 'Marcus, and Simon?' Heero's voice was carefully neutral.  
  
'Yes.' Wufei's eyebrows drew together. 'What's wrong?'  
  
'According to Trowa, they were the two who attacked him.' The merest hint of trepidation seeped through; Wufei could hear it, but he doubted that anybody else could have. 'The session failed. Trowa began to dream directly. Brainwaves were recorded but nothing else, and those will take time to decode. He confused the doctor with his attackers, and attempted to strangle her.'  
  
Wufei's expression became more serious. 'He's dangerous, then.' The Detective paused. 'Will you tell him?'  
  
'I haven't decided.'  
  
'Aren't you obliged to do so?' The frown returned.  
  
'My duty is to ensure his wellbeing, and I am uncertain whether evidence to support his notions will be beneficial. It may merely serve to reinforce them, while they may otherwise be dismissed.'  
  
A thought struck Wufei and returned to the computer, asking, 'What is Trowa's birthdate?'  
  
Heero's confusion was almost audible. 'First of march, eighty-three.'  
  
Wufei called up Robert's details, scrolled quickly through them, then exhaled deeply. 'Heero, I think you ought to let him know.'  
  
'Why?'  
  
The Detective chose his words carefully. 'Because according to the data, he may well be Robert Grant reborn.'  
  
A silence. 'And...?'  
  
On Wufei's screen, the characters seemed to glow - Robert Grant, Deathdate: 01Mar83. Wufei took a breath. 'And better he find out now, in a relatively calm state... than after something else happens.'  
  
***  
  
The pair moved through Holy Cross Cemetery. Quatre's figure was tense, and his eyes darted back and forth between the rows of tombstones, lingering slightly on those that appeared particularly unkempt. Duo followed closely, but his gaze was fixed on his friend. 'Quatre?'  
  
'Hmm?' The musician glanced over his shoulder, and slowed down slightly.  
  
'Is Lisa... your mother?'  
  
Quatre blinked. 'Pardon?' He stopped. 'Why?'  
  
Duo searched his face for any sign that the confusion was feigned, but failed. 'Well...'  
  
The musician shook his head. 'No. I forgot to tell you - Father did a search for me using that ring with my birthdate. My mother's name was Quaterine, and she died in childbirth. That's why I chose Quatre as a stage name. It was partially for her,' he smiled slightly, 'and partially for the Alleycat.' He hesitated, then murmured, 'But please don't ask me about Lisa.'  
  
'Oh.' Duo paused, digesting the information. 'I'm sorry, Cat.'  
  
'It's okay,' came the quiet reply. 'I just don't like talking about her, that's all.'  
  
Duo regarded him carefully, but nodded. 'Then we won't.'  
  
They continued for a while in silence then Quatre drew to a halt, kneeling beside a tombstone. Duo joined him curiously. Wild shoots peeked out between the numerous cracks, and dirt had gathered in most of the words, rendering them illegible. The musician reached into his pocket and retrieved a brush, easing away at the engravings with a few soft strokes.  
  
'In memory of Lisa Bennet. Rest in Peace.' Duo leaned closer, squinting at the characters. 'Birthdate unknown, date of death - the second of March, 1983.' He glanced up. 'Cat, is this... Cat?'  
  
Quatre's face had turned white. For several moments, he remained staring at the words, then his gaze fell slowly, running over every inch of the tombstone without appearing to notice any of it. In a sudden, abrupt move, he rose and turned away, his entire body looking as though it wished to run.  
  
Duo stood up and touched his shoulder worriedly. 'Cat? Are you okay?'  
  
The musician closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, almost panting. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled. 'Please, Duo - let's just get away from here.'  
  
'Alright, Cat.' The artist's brow knitted in concern. 'Can you walk?'  
  
'Yeah.' Quatre's fist clenched. 'Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go.'  
  
***  
  
A ring interrupted his sleep. Wufei rolled over and grabbed his phone, trying to clear his voice enough to say, 'Chang Wufei speaking.'  
  
'Wufei? It's Duo.'  
  
'Maxwell?' The Detective sat up. 'What is it?'  
  
'Sorry for phoning so early, but Cat only just fell asleep - he spent most of the night tossing and turning.' Duo paused. 'We went to the cemetery.'  
  
Wufei reached to flick on the lights, then decided against it and pulled open the blinds instead. 'What did you find?'  
  
'We found the grave. I don't know why, but Cat suddenly looked like he had been bowled over.'  
  
The Detective slid out from his covers and moved into his office, switching on the laptop. 'What did the grave say?'  
  
''In memory of Lisa Bennet. Rest in Peace,' Duo recited. 'The birthdate was unknown, and the date of death was the second of March, 1983. Nothing more than what you'd given me. But when he saw it, he became white and trembly and downright shocked.'  
  
'She's not his mother?' Wufei doubted it but asked anyway, frowning when Duo indicated negative. 'I know Quatre's an orphan, but would you know his birthdate?'  
  
'No - wait. Maybe. Be right back.' Wufei waited for a while, then Duo returned, his voice bright. 'It was on his ring. Can't believe you thought of that - it's the same. I never thought Cat was superstitious, but I guess it happened over the years... anyway, thanks, Wufei.'  
  
The Detective took a deep breath, consciously keeping his voice neutral. 'Maxwell. Exactly what is the same as what?'  
  
'Oh,' came the rueful reply. 'Sorry. Cat's birthday. It's the day Lisa died.'  
  
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Notes:  
  
::stares at first section:: Um, someone will tell me if the Quatre-Duo interactions are blatantly OOC, right? ^^;; And yes, it's getting clearer. Or at least, it appears to be. ::evil grin::  
  
Mephisto Waltz: I'm glad you enjoy the mystery, though it's turning my brains inside out. ^^ thanks for reviewing!  
  
MissyIrene: Hi again! I liked their friendship too - I actually find their sections difficult to write, so I'm glad you enjoyed them.  
  
Misanagi: Well, yes, I take sadistic pleasure out of confusing people. ^^;; More evil cliffhangers to come! 


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: The GW characters belong to the people they've always belonged to, and the initial concept of this story was inspired by S. L. Wai's 'Seeking Dreams'. The rest is mine. Please ask before stealing.  
  
Rating: R (eventually)  
  
Warnings: Shounen ai, violence, death. AU. Mentions of NCS. Evilness. See that rating.  
  
Pairings: Primarily 3+4, eventual and vague 1+2.  
  
Comments/critiques: Extremely welcome and much appreciated. Please comment or email Anoni at esoteric_expression@yahoo.com.  
  
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Cycles  
  
Chapter Four  
  
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After a minute of silence, Duo queried, 'Wufei?'  
  
The Detective rubbed his forehead. 'Sorry. I was... pouring tea.' He reached out absently for his teacup.  
  
It was Duo's turn to grow quiet. 'Wufei, are you okay?'  
  
Wufei debated telling the truth but finally decided against it; the situation was not yet urgent enough to warrant the betrayal of Trowa's confidentiality, and he was reluctant to worry Duo over his own suspicions. But the artist knew him too well, and half-truths would not work. He needed time to think. 'I need to go, Duo. Call you back later.'  
  
He ended the conversation with a click. After a pause, he picked up the phone and dialed another number, then leaned back and waited for Heero Yuy to answer.  
  
***  
  
/ 'I love you,' came the sleepy murmur.  
  
Robert held her closer, drawing the blanket over them both. 'Love you too.'  
  
After some moments, Lisa stared up at him. 'What will we do?'  
  
'...I don't know.' He shifted beside her. 'What do you want?'  
  
She smiled slightly, her hand roaming down past his belly. 'You.'  
  
His breaths shortened. 'Lily... aah, Lily. Stop.' Robert sat up with some effort, his cheeks flushed. 'We need to sort this out. He won't let us go.'  
  
Lisa fell quiet. 'Who?'  
  
'You know.'  
  
She rose to sit beside him, pulling a robe around her shoulders. 'Your parents won't help?' He shook his head silently. 'It's me, isn't it?'  
  
'It's not your fault that they care more for reputation than love.' Robert reached for her hand. 'But Marcus is coming after me.'  
  
She frowned. 'I thought you told your parents about him? Surely they'd be willing to stop him from stalking you.'  
  
He shook his head. 'He's disowned, yes, but he's my cousin nonetheless.'  
  
'Reputation again,' she said with a sigh.  
  
'Of course.'  
  
'I thought he gave up on you after seeing us together.'  
  
Robert reddened at the memory. 'On a relationship with me, yes. On revenge, no.' He glanced at her. 'Marcus may be more dangerous than Simon.'  
  
Lisa considered for a moment. 'He has money and power, but Simon knows this place. He has contacts. When it comes down to it... he knows how to be ruthless.' She bit her lip. 'And he wants me. He has for a long time.'  
  
He remained still for a long time. 'Will you come with me, Lily?'  
  
'Where?'  
  
'Away from here. Permanently.'  
  
She stared at him. 'Will you? And leave everything?'  
  
'Yes.' He paused. 'This place isn't safe anymore. The longer we stay-'  
  
'The more dangerous it is. I know. And there's never been much for me here. When?'  
  
'Tomorrow dusk. I... don't want you spending another night here.' His eyes searched hers. 'Usual place?'  
  
'Okay.' She sighed. 'I have to go, love. This is a one-hour slot.'  
  
Robert flinched and exhaled deeply. '...Alright.' He reached for his purse, handing her the standard fee and another, much larger sum. 'Take care, Lily.'  
  
Her lips brushed his. 'I will. I'll see you tomorrow.'  
  
~~~  
  
That night, Lisa stepped out into the streets. She had managed to take one less 'customer' than usual by supplementing the pub's return with some of Robert's money; in fact, had she not known that the other 'maids' would become suspicious, she would have sacrificed all of the cash. As it was, she tried to blank her mind as she usually did, and came out weary but physically unhurt.  
  
Then, the nightmare struck.  
  
Lisa remembered it dimly; the two men ambushing her as she rounded the corner, the damp cloth being forced against her face, her clothes being torn from her body, the stickiness of blood against her thighs. She tried to hold her cries back but the men fell upon her again and it became impossible; the screams were torn from her throat and they echoed in the empty, emtpy night.  
  
An eternity passed. The whirling in her mind became deafening. Then, chaos gave way to blessed oblivion and Lisa knew no more.  
  
By the time she staggered awake and promptly emptied her stomach onto the ground, the next day's sun was almost gone. Her memory flew to the scheduled meeting and she began, for a fleeting moment, to panic. Then the moment passed. The present rushed back. And her trembling disappeared beneath a sudden, almost overwhelming sense of calm.  
  
Her clothes lay in a pile beside her, and Lisa stared for a moment before picking up the shawl and knotting it into a semblance of a strapless top. The flimsy skirt she simply shredded further and more evenly, or as evenly as she could manage with bare hands, before putting it back on. Her purse was gone; that, she expected. A search revealed that her dagger was missing too. For a moment, the girl paused in thought, then she exited the warehouse and moved towards the Night Haven's kitchen backway.  
  
She halted outside the door and listened; sure enough, the cook was out. It was the break before the night shift. Hurrying in, she rummaged until she found a knife, and pocketed it. Then, noiselessly, she ran through the pub and left through the front door. She had been alert; as she moved past, she caught a glimpse of the two faces she sought. Her eyes held theirs for an instant.  
  
There was a scrape of shoes against wood as Marcus and Simon followed her out. She waited for them outside. They glanced at each other when they saw her, their faces flashing with a mix of curiosity and surprise and a feral expression she remembered only two well, then they approached her in wordless synchronisation.  
  
But she was prepared, this time. She was more than prepared.  
  
Her body was aching and bleeding but she ignored the pain, sprinting and weaving past the afternoon crowds towards the warehouse of the night before. They arrived moments after her, one panting more than the other. Then, before they could say anything, she was upon them.  
  
It did not take long. She had tackled Simon first; he was fresher, and ultimately stronger. Had she not lived on the streets for thirteen years, she would not have survived. Had she not had surprise on her side, she would not have won. But Lisa had both, and Simon fell. She knew he would never rise again.  
  
Marcus was easier; he had been a moneybag's son, long ago, before he became disowned for trifling with drugs and other substances. Other people had always done his dirty work. He had stood by, in shock, until his accomplice fell. And then he tried to run. The knife landed in his back with a thud.  
  
Still wordless, she retrieved it and flipped the man over. For a moment, he stared up at her in disbelief, then his broken laughter cut into the silence. 'I... I guess it's payback,' came the voice distorted by wracking coughs and blood. 'Th-the bastard, for us.'  
  
She froze. 'Robert?' Her knife dug into his throat. 'What did you do to him?'  
  
The laugh echoed again. 'Y-you'll have to... you'll have to see, won't you?' Another burst of coughing. 'Outside the N-night Haven. Alley.'  
  
She slashed his throat.  
  
Without a second glance, Lisa ran out again, this time heading for the alley. Her mind was screaming obscenities but she ignored it, peering over the barrels stacked against one wall. Blue eyes widened as they fell on the crumpled figure.  
  
Delicately, trying to avoid increasing her own bleeding, she shifted past and felt her heart clench when Robert brightened. He struggled to sit up, and failed. Lisa's mind began to close over as she heard her nickname being croaked into the silence. 'Oh gods...'  
  
The bruises, the cuts, the broken body - they all struck her, harder than any physical pain could have. In spite of the slight curve of his lips, in spite of the hopeful eyes... she had seen death often enough to recognise it. But the pain had never been so horrifyingly real.  
  
'Lily...'  
  
The nickname. Gods, the nickname - the name that he had given her when they first met, the name that purified her and and disassociated her from life as a whore - it brought everything back. The whirlwind of events suddenly became stark; the brutal rape, the distant, almost mechanical revenge... and the ache of seeing her lover die before her.  
  
Without him, she was nothing but Lisa of Night Haven.  
  
Without him, she the future was as hopeless as it had been before he taught her to live.  
  
Without him... she would rather die.  
  
And so, Lisa Bennet laughed. It was a cruel laugh, one lacking any degree of humour, one that bordered on hysterical. A part of her mind - the tiny part that was still lucid - was horrified, but that part was no longer in control. It could not afford to be.  
  
Everything hurt too much.  
  
She stood above her dying lover, staring coldly downwards as he tried to reach for her. Her face twisted into a smirk. He moaned. Her heart tightened and she forced the pain back, grinning even more maniacally. Suddenly, she knew what to do. The knife glinted as she raised it and held it above him.  
  
Then she stabbed him in the heart.  
  
A strangled groan escaped from his lips and she felt a wrenching sense of betrayal. Somehow, she knew it came from him. For several moments, she simply stared downwards, waiting as the sense of betrayal faded into nothingless. Her lover was at peace. He had passed on.  
  
Then, Lisa scaled the walls into her room. The walls had been designed to be scalable to attract more customers, but in this case, they served her well. In the chest by the window, there was a small, clear package. She emptied its contents onto her tongue and waited.  
  
It did not take long before she felt herself drifting towards unconsciousness. The poison acted slowly, but it was painless, and it had been her backup for years. She would remain alive for some hours; that much, she knew. But by dawn the next day, she would be asleep.  
  
And she would never have to wake again. /  
  
***  
  
Trowa halted, listening intently, but the cries were definitely not ones of ecstasy. He hesitated, then rapped on the door. There was no response. He pressed his ear against the wooden panels, frowning as he heard the sounds fade into heavy panting. He waited for another minute and knocked again. This time, he heard footsteps approach and after a moment, a disheveled face peeked out, asking hesitantly, 'Can I help you?'  
  
The Agent slid his hands into his pockets. 'I'm sorry if I disturbed you, but I heard someone calling out and wasn't sure whether anything was wrong.'  
  
'Oh.' There was a click and the sound of the door-chains being unfastened. Seconds later, the door slid open and a young man stepped out. 'Thank you. I... was having a nightmare.'  
  
Trowa's eyebrow raised slightly; it was already four o'clock. 'Are you alright?'  
  
'Yeah.' A shaky smile. 'Thanks for stopping.'  
  
'That's okay.' Trowa regarded him for some moments, then paused in shock. 'Quatre Winner?'  
  
Quatre's smile grew shy. 'Yeah, that's me. And you are...?'  
  
'Trowa Barton,' he replied. 'Pleased to meet you.' He offered a slight smile. 'Your music is amazing.'  
  
'Thank you.' The musician's expression relaxed. 'If you're not busy, would you like some tea?'  
  
'It won't bother you?'  
  
Quatre gave an embarrassed laugh. 'No, I think I can use the company.' He shifted aside. 'Come on in.'  
  
'Thank you.'  
  
'Take a seat,' the musician said, gesturing at the table. They spotted the piece of paper at the same time. Quatre picked it up, scanning the words, and Trowa watched as his expression fell slightly.  
  
'Is something wrong?'  
  
'No,' came the soft reply. Quatre pocketed the note. 'Just a friend telling me he left for work at noon. I feel guilty for keeping him up last night, that's all.'  
  
Trowa sat down, folding his hands over one crossed knee. 'If he's your friend, I'm sure he wouldn't have minded.'  
  
Quatre smiled slightly. 'I know he wouldn't have minded, but I still feel guilty. Tea or coffee?'  
  
'Either is fine.' He glanced around the room, his eyes falling on the music above a violin case. 'Are you playing tonight?'  
  
'Yes. In the auditorium downstairs.' Quatre returned with two cups. 'Would you like sugar?'  
  
'No, it's okay. Thank you.' Trowa took a sip as his companion sat down. 'You don't have to answer this, but I've always wondered about something - why don't you ever play your duets at concerts?'  
  
The musician tilted his head reflectively. 'I guess it's because I haven't found anyone who can play the other part exactly the way I envision it. It's usually only little things, but those affect my own playing.'  
  
'I see.' Trowa lowered his cup. 'I think I understand. Because your music always comes from yourself - that's what draws us in.'  
  
Quatre brightened. 'That's what I mean. When I compose, the piece becomes part of me. Every time I play it, I relive the feelings and the thoughts I had, and the music pours out. That's the only way I know.'  
  
'And having someone add thoughts or emotions that aren't yours would break the magic,' Trowa murmured.  
  
'Yes. And I lose the music because it's no longer a part of me.' They both fell silent for a moment, then Quatre asked, 'Do you play, Trowa?'  
  
The Agent nodded. 'Some flute, yes.'  
  
Wordlessly, Quatre stood and walked over to his instruments, retrieving several sheets of manuscript. 'This is the first piece I ever composed. It's for the flute and the violin, but I can't play the flute.'  
  
Trowa gazed at the music for a long time. His eyes ran over the bars, noting almost absently that there were no dynamics or other interpretative symbols, pausing at the fluttering trills, closing his eyes and listening to the impassioned interplay between the two parts. Abruptly, he stood. 'Will you wait for me?'  
  
Quatre looked at him in surprise. 'Where are you going?'  
  
Trowa did not answer. 'I'll be back.' With that, he exited the room, leaving the musician staring after him.  
  
After several minutes, the Agent returned, his hand holding a black case. Quatre's eyes widened. 'Is that...?'  
  
Trowa nodded, asking simply, 'May I?'  
  
Quatre swallowed. 'Please.'  
  
Trowa assembled his flute quietly, gave the manuscript another glance, then closed his eyes. Beside him, the other man waited. Softly, tentatively, the opening notes floated into the air, and Quatre felt his heart clench. / This... /  
  
All conscious thoughts fled as his own melody washed over him, whispering of childhood hopes, recalling the longings that he had held back for so many years. The notes echoed his own laughter and tears, whirling them back to the present and carrying them towards the uncertain future. / ...this is my own song. /  
  
As the first movement faded to a close, Quatre murmured quietly, 'Please, wait.' The other man opened his eyes, and silently, he lowered his flute. Quatre picked up his violin, running the bow over the strings experimentally before looking up. 'Will you play with me, Trowa?'  
  
The raised flute was enough of a reply.  
  
He lifted his bow and new sounds emerged, at once hesitant and powerful. Quatre found his eyes widening as his arm moved of its own accord, infusing his own notes with feelings he had never before imagined. For the first time in his memory, the unexpected changes - his own changes - did not feel like an intrusion. Because his untitled piece finally felt whole.  
  
Emerald eyes met sapphire as the last lingering note dissipated. Trowa lowered his flute slowly, shifting the manuscript aside and resting his instrument on the table. After a moment, his lips curved into a genuine smile. 'Thank you, Quatre.'  
  
He understood. Quatre could feel it. The musician felt tears spring into his eyes, and he blinked rapidly. 'No... thank you. That was beautiful.'  
  
***  
  
'Did you tell him?' Wufei asked after they both sat down.  
  
'Yes.'  
  
'His reaction?'  
  
'Nothing unexpected,' Heero answered, his expression inscrutable. 'He's now certain that Robert is not a figment of his imagination. How does that help?'  
  
The Detective regarded him steadily. 'Trowa has always believed himself to be Robert reborn; nothing could have changed that, as you know. It would be easier to work on the premise that his belief is true because his actions are guided by his own beliefs, not ours.' A pause. 'Indeed, I'm beginning to believe him myself.'  
  
A barely noticeable frown. 'Why?'  
  
'A client of mine has requested that I search for a "Lisa Bennet", and although he would not say why, all the details he provided corresponded with Lisa's. I found out this morning that he was born on her deathday.'  
  
'And you don't believe it is a coincidence?'  
  
'Do you?' Wufei returned.  
  
'Not entirely,' came the doctor's reply after a moment. 'But I don't accept the other possibility either.' Heero's brow furrowed in thought. 'But that doesn't matter.'  
  
'No,' said Wufei with a slight nod. 'It doesn't. I'm more concerned with making sure Trowa never meets anybody he recognises or thinks of as reincarnations.'  
  
'Does your client resemble Lisa?'  
  
'Not noticeably.'  
  
Heero glanced at him. 'Chances of meeting?'  
  
'Slim, fortunately. And he is only here for a short period.' Wufei paused. 'How likely is it that Trowa will react abnormally if he somehow recognises somebody?'  
  
Heero considered for several moments. 'In a sane state, his self-control will remain. Otherwise, violence is probable, as the hypnosis showed. His instinctive reactions aren't safe.'  
  
'He knows that, I think,' Wufei said thoughtfully. 'Because he sought you for treatment. That's why I thought it advisable to inform him of the truth; it would remove any doubts he had about the idea of reincarnation. If he thinks of it as the truth, he would be more wary of and alert to his own actions.'  
  
'He would.' The doctor raised a cup to his lips and drank. 'I'll discuss it with him when I get the chance.'  
  
Wufei nodded. 'It's Marcus and Simon I'm worried about, now. They can be anybody.'  
  
'...Theoretically.'  
  
The detective glanced at him. 'You don't like the idea.'  
  
'Of reincarnation, no.' The slight frown returned. 'We have no choice but to assume it is the truth and to establish precautions based on that assumption. But had Trowa thought differently from the start, we could have dismissed the idea instead of confirming his beliefs in something so vague. These fears would be redundant.'  
  
Wufei smiled slightly. 'Heero, there is something I should tell you. In my culture, reincarnation is a truth of life. And if there are things left unresolved in one lifetime, it's believed that they will be carried on through any number of generations until the cycles of debt and repayment are complete.'  
  
The detective's expression grew contemplative. 'Perhaps it's not true. All I know is that Trowa believes it is, and that keeping him away from Quatre and the other people from his dreams may be paranoid, but it may not be.' His eyes locked with Heero's.  
  
'Tragedy has been known to repeat itself.'  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Notes:  
  
Evil? Sadistic? Who, me? ::blinks innocently::  
  
On a more serious note, there's something I'd like to clarify about this story's interpretation of the concept of reincarnation. I am using the more traditional Chinese beliefs - which is why Wufei is both familiar with and less inclined to dismiss them - and these are two points relevant to the story.  
  
1. When people die, they 'go to get reincarnated', and thus, one's birthdate in a previous lifetime usually coincides with one's birthdate in the current lifetime.  
  
2. If there is 'unfinished business', ie. an unresolved conflict, a misunderstanding, an unpaid due etc., and these matter enough to at least one of the involved parties, then the business may be 'carried forward' to future lives until the matter is resolved.  
  
As far as I know, some other cultures hold similar beliefs. I'm not saying that everybody believes in one or both of the above, or that either of them are true, but for the premise of this story, it is assumed that neither have been proven but that both are known and possible. The extent to which each character agrees with these ideas is affected by factors such as personality and personal experiences.  
  
Now for responses:  
  
Nanashi: Sure! Thanks. ^_^  
  
Misanagi: I know. ::pats him:: But hey, they've met! Thanks for reviewing.  
  
Cmquietone: Yay, they meet! XD Hope you like that part!  
  
MissyIrene: Glad you like the story, and thanks for sticking with me! 


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